


Tales of the Wombat: Heavensward

by Wombat (Superwombat6)



Series: Tales of the Wombat (FF14 fics) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Multi, Why Do I Play This Video Game It Hurts Me So, aymeric is just too easy to fall in love with, hello naughty children it's Emotions time, hi heavensward has a lot of inspiration, i did not set out with polyamory in mind but here we are, i'll mark which one it is, not even joking i cried several times while proofreading some of these, the mature rating is literally just there for one chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superwombat6/pseuds/Wombat
Summary: Being the Warrior of Light was never a lighthearted endeavor. However, following the events of the banquet in Ul'dah, Wombat Figaro finds herself embroiled in conflict after conflict, struggling to keep up.Dealing with relationships is probably the last thing she needed, but that's happening, too. At least she knows she has someone she can rely on.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters, Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Series: Tales of the Wombat (FF14 fics) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001160
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What good is a Warrior of Light who can't even protect those closest to her?
> 
> Will the pain of loss ever lessen?
> 
> No. No, it will not.

The scene played out once again in her mind's eye.

Running side-by-side.

A flash of light.

A shout.

The screeching of metal, a shield pushed to its limit.

A crack, sounding in time to the shattering of her heart.

Blood.

His hand clutched desperately in hers.

Trying to smile. For him. One last time. A weak, watery smile to grant his dying wish.

Dead.

Gone.

Forever.

"--at. _Wombat._ "

The bard snapped back to reality. Her room in the Fortemps manor. Alphinaud was talking. Or, he had been; now he was scrutinizing her with tangible concern.

"S-sorry, Alphi. Please continue."

His frown deepened. "Have you heard any of what I said just now?"

She opened her mouth to lie, but no words were forthcoming. So instead, she uttered the only one she had left. "...No."

Alphinaud sighed heavily. "No, I thought not. Pray forgive me; I'm sure none of us are in any state to be planning our next step now."

Wombat didn't say anything, just offered a noncommittal noise. She was already retreating back to her mind, to the hell where once again the scene repeated. If Alphinaud said anything else before leaving, she didn't hear it.

Again, the scene played. Running, light, crack, blood, smile, death.

Light. Crack. Blood. Death.

Crack. Blood. Death.

Those _bastards._

Her hand hurt. Why did her hand hurt. She opened her eyes and returned to reality, her question answered immediately. Her fist was planted squarely in a dent in the wall, and blood seeped from her knuckles. Ah.

She withdrew her hand and absently removed her glove to better assess the damage. She hadn't even been aware of punching the wall…

"Figaro."

She looked up. The door had opened a crack, and she saw a splash of crimson through the opening.

_Blood. Smile. Death._

The bard hastily shook herself free from her thoughts and scowled. "Estinien, take a godsdamned bath. Or at least clean your armor."

He ignored her comment completely, instead pushing the door open fully and stepping inside. "Figaro."

"I heard you the first time," she sulked, nursing her injured hand.

"I wasn't sure you had. It would seem you've hardly been aware of anything that's happened since--"

Wombat squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. "Why are you here?"

"I heard a noise and came to check on you."

"You? Worried about me? Shocking." She glanced at him, but he was unreadable as ever with his damn visor. "Go away."

"I will not." The dragoon crossed his arms. "How long do you plan on remaining dead to the world? We have all suffered the same loss, Warrior of Light-- you need to pull yourself together until your work is done."

Hollow grief abruptly flared into rage. Wombat spun on him, her ears flattened and her tail-fur bristling. " _Bullshit!_ You're not me, dragoon. You're hardened to war and loss, and a callous prick besides."

He huffed, but said nothing.

"I've lost too many friends these past moons. Too often I've stumbled in too late, or been forced to watch as _everything crumbles around me_. When Nanamo awoke, I dared to hope that the nightmare was over, only for-- for--"

She cut herself off, her words devolving into an inarticulate yell as she swung her fist toward Estinien's chest. He caught her wrist and held it, waiting for her to tire herself out.

Wombat strained against him, more out of sheer frustration than any desire to actually hit him. Hot, angry tears rolled down her cheeks. "Why… why _him?!_ Why the kindest, most honest person in the world? Why c-couldn't it have been _you_ , or--" This time a sob cut off her words, as she realized what she'd just said. "Gods. Estinien, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"I know." He released her wrist and crossed his arms again. She retreated and dropped onto the bed behind her, head clutched in her hands, fingers grasping big fistfuls of violet hair.

"Those bastards. Those _bastards._ I'll make them pay." Her fists clenched harder, pulled at her hair. "They'll... they'll _pay_ for what they did to Haurchefant. I'll--"

"Figaro. Stop."

She stopped, panting, but didn't look up. Her rage was spent, leaving her even more hollow than before. "I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what? Swear vengeance upon the Heavens' Ward and the Archbishop? You'll make them _suffer?"_

His words struck like barbs. She knew precisely what he was saying.

"It sounds familiar, does it not? You've seen what fruits vengeance reaps, Figaro. They're bitter and unsatisfying, leaving naught behind but the taste of ash on your tongue. You bore witness to Nidhogg's terrible vengeance, and to mine own. Do not sully the legacy of the Warrior of Light with a quest for revenge."

Wombat's fingers slowly untangled from her hair, weak and trembling. She stared at the floor, past the floor, tears streaming unchecked. "Haurchefant…"

"He would not have wanted this. He would have wanted you to--"

"Smile," she breathed weakly, recalling his last words. She tried to smile, but her lips began to tremble too hard to hold it. What little composure she had left crumbled away. She withered, her body wracked by broken, ugly sobs as her arms clutched weakly at one another.

No longer was that damnable scene replaying in her head, but instead all the time she'd spent with Haurchefant, the smiles they'd shared and the battles they'd won. The tears came faster, she trembled harder, and she wept for the dear friend she'd lost.

She knew not when Estinien left, nor when she fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. But she knew that, whatever was to come, whatever she did next, it would be in the name of her fallen friend. She would do him proud, and she would face the coming storm with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written directly after I finished the Vault. It was vent fic, essentially.
> 
> I cried again while proofreading this chapter.
> 
> Oops.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They parted with a kiss, and then he vanished.
> 
> Wombat fought an entire war before she next heard about him.
> 
> It's time to pick up where they left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different!
> 
> _Smooching!_

The world swam around her, awash with the stabbing pain that inevitably accompanied her Echo-granted visions. Wombat clutched her head and groaned as she returned to reality, struggling to recover fast enough to defend herself. Was that group attacking yet…? No, no they weren't, that was good.

It took a few moments more before she felt confident in opening her eyes fully again. When she did, everything had changed. She gasped as Y'shtola hit the ground next to her, then quickly looked around for the opponents.

In the few seconds it took her to recover, they had launched a coordinated attack that quickly overwhelmed the Scions. Desperate to help, Wombat grasped for her bow and took aim, only to be caught unawares by a burst of magic. The bow dropped out of her reach as she hit the floor. Looking up, she saw the axe-wielding Hyur bearing down on her. Gods, what could she do?

Her brain sluggishly struggled to come up with something, _anything_ , but all she could do was stare wide-eyed as death approached. No, this wasn't how it was meant to go! Who was this person? _Where was Thancred?_

_Thuk, thuk thuk!_

Wombat's head snapped up. A series of thuds accompanied a rain of throwing knives that buried themselves in the dirt before her. Her assailant danced back, looking around for his attacker.

There was another thud nearby. Wombat turned her head to look, and gasped.

Long silver hair framed the face of the newcomer, the rest tied back in a small ponytail. At his belt she saw a pair of knives, one much larger than the other, and when the stranger straightened up…

Yes! She saw the familiar tattoos on his neck, and the contours of his _damned handsome_ face. _Thancred._

He was wholly focused on the other Hyur right now, and drew his weapons with a fluid grace that bespoke long practice. The two clashed, and though the stranger struck with powerful attacks, not one of them hit home. Seemingly effortlessly, Thancred kept up blow-for-blow, using the stranger's own momentum against him. Wombat could only _stare_.

At least, until she registered the _other_ sound that dominated the air. Frantic clicking and skittering, the sounds of a furious Gnath hive ready to blow. Wombat forced herself to her feet and turned to aid the others, sparing a glance every so often to see that they weren't being attacked. Not long after, the opposing group vanished, escaping via teleportation magic. They had the right of it; time to go.

Though she ached to speak, reunions were duly postponed until after they'd fled a safe distance from the Gnath hive. Krile looked fit to collapse, a fact which did not go unnoticed by a fretful Alphinaud. Wombat caught her breath much faster, and looked up to see her long-lost friend smirking at her.

"Don't tell me you've gone soft in all this time," he teased.

Instead of replying, she launched herself straight at him. He managed a single shout of surprise before they both tumbled to the ground. At that point, he was far too busy with the purple-furred Miqo'te kissing the hells out of him to comment further.

"Ah…" That awkward throat clearing could only be Alphinaud.

"Do you suppose we ought to leave them to it?" Y'shtola mused. "I'd _hate_ to interrupt, after all. I don't suppose the Gnath would extend the same courtesy?"

Torn between exasperation and embarrassment, Wombat finally allowed Thancred a little room to breathe and sat up, though she did not make any move to get off him.

" _Hello to you, too_ ," he said breathlessly.

She grinned down at him. "You dramatic bastard. I ran to the colony, expecting to have to save _you_ , but instead you saved _me_ , and at the last godsdamned second to boot."

"You know that was by design, right?" Y'shtola teased. "Always at the last _instant_ with this one. It’s good to see you haven’t lost your appetite for the dramatic."

Thancred gave her an expression of mock hurt. “ _My_ appetite for the dramatic? Have you forgotten the circumstances of our parting?” Heedless of the small Miqo’te atop him, he raised his hands to gesture dramatically. “The heroic last stand, the tunnel filling with light, and then…” he trailed off with a wistful sigh, shaking his head. “Had I known you intended to use forbidden magicks to deliver me to some _godsforsaken_ wilderness…” He smirked. “...I would have thanked you in advance.”

Y’shtola grinned fondly back at him. “Thancred…”

"Well," Wombat interrupted, "I, for one, think the last-second rescue was hotter than all the hells. And that’s coming from someone who’s fought Ifrit _twice_.”

Thancred laughed, a delightful thing for her to feel through her perch. She was soon knocked askew with surprising ease as he sat up and winked at her. "Well, good. That's what I was aiming for, after all. Given how we parted, it wouldn't do to leave anything to chance."

"To be fair, rescuing you from the Gnath would _also_ have been hot," Wombat pointed out.

"Granted," said Thancred. He leaned in and returned her kiss, and she just about melted. Turned out the Scions' resident wannabe ladies' man was a _damn_ good kisser. She leaned into it, wrapped an arm around his shoulders while the other grasped the back of his head. She breathed deeply of the gamey smell that clung to him, the scent of the wilderness that he'd lived off of for far too long. His beard, still mostly stubble, scratched at her chin, and more than once both of them found their long hair getting in the way.

It was _perfect_.

"Alright, you two, I think that's quite enough of a 'welcome back' party, thank you _very_ much." Y'shtola's patience was finally spent, it seemed, as she strode toward them. Wombat reluctantly separated from Thancred and gave Y'shtola a flat stare. The conjurer was unmoved. "Oh, _do_ forgive me. You're right, we've no matters to discuss of _any_ importance at all. You two falling upon each other like ravenous beasts does seem our most pressing matter at the moment."

Thancred beamed at her. "So glad you agree, my lady!" He turned back toward Wombat with a mischievous grin that she eagerly returned.

"No, no, no!" Alphinaud strode forward this time, and Wombat was amused to note that he was red as a cherry. "For the love of the Twelve, can you please wait at _least_ until we secure lodgings in Tailfeather? We really do have much to discuss."

Wombat and Thancred exchanged one final glance before they both finally picked themselves up off the ground.

"Aye, you have the right of it," Thancred admitted.

Wombat laughed and offered Alphinaud an apologetic shrug. Then, her gaze drifted back up to Thancred, basking in his presence.

Gods, it felt good to see him again. To _kiss_ him again, if that frantic affair back in the tunnel could even be called such.

The group started back toward the settlement once they'd all caught each other up to speed. Thancred really had been through a trying time, but he seemed to be as healthy as ever. Wombat was glad that he was the resourceful sort; if anyone could figure out how to thrive in the Dravanian wilderness with _not even_ the clothes on their back, it was him.

"You know," said Thancred thoughtfully as they walked. "I've found myself deprived of a great _many_ things these past few moons."

Wombat couldn't help the blush that immediately sprung up on her cheeks. "Oh? Is that so?"

"’Tis. I was wondering if perhaps you'd be willing to… help me _re-acquaint_ myself with some of them? Perhaps this evening?"

The blush spread. "Well, I could certainly try," Wombat replied gamely. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific."

She could almost _hear_ Y'shtola's eyes rolling from full three yalms away. And just like that, a little bit of normalcy finally returned to Wombat's world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing interactions between Y'shtola and Thancred will never not be delightful.


	3. New Experiences (M rating)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through her myriad adventures, Wombat has done many things.
> 
> Sex was not one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh,,,, so. Nsfw obviously.
> 
> I'm very ace and have No Idea what I'm doing here, but I like how it came out.

The awkwardness in the room was palpable. Sitting on the bed in the little hunting lodge, Wombat shifted uncomfortably.

"Truly?" said Thancred, looking incredulous. "Not even once?"

"Well… no." Her cheeks reddened. "Sorry if it sounded like I was leading you on. I dunno, I just… was never interested."

"Huh." Thancred looked like he'd never considered the possibility before.

"I mean, I dunno… it just never appealed?" She shrugged helplessly. "S-sorry."

Thancred was silent a moment longer, but then a smile crept onto his face. "You know, my dear Wombat, you are  _ truly  _ adorable when you're flustered."

"Wh-- I, uh…"

He laughed, then sat down next to her. His expression sobered, and he glanced over. "Much as I was, ah… looking forward to a little romp with you tonight, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Really?" She looked over at him, surprised. He simply shrugged. Somehow, she hadn't expected him to be so gracious about it.

In all honesty, it just made him even  _ more _ attractive.

"...You know… i-if I am to try sex one of these days, it ought to be with someone I trust," she said thoughtfully.

Thancred gave her a somewhat confused look. "I suppose so, yes."

The tiniest hint of a sly smile brushed at Wombat's lips. "...And, perhaps, someone who is  _ experienced _ with it."

Slowly, a grin spread across Thancred's face. "Aye, and  _ good _ in bed, at that." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I think I might know  _ just  _ the man."

She grinned back, despite the furious blush. "Is that so? How very convenient for me." Her hand found its way to the one resting on her shoulder. "Care to enlighten me?"

In lieu of an answer, Thancred used his other hand to remove Wombat's hat and leaned in for a gentle kiss.

Her heart raced, and she was unsure if it was nerves or… something else. She gamely kept up the banter. "M-my, you sure have a high opinion of yourself."

Thancred chuckled. "You don't have to take  _ my _ word for it; there are  _ plenty _ of ladies out there who can attest to my prowess."

"Lucky me."

Thancred kissed her again, and she felt her world go soft. It was a little overwhelming.

It did not escape Thancred's attention. "Are you all right? We don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable. I like to think I have  _ at least _ that much self-control."

"No, I…" Wombat bit her lip. "I  _ do _ want to… try this. I think. I'm just a little… I dunno, overwhelmed?"

"Then we take it slowly," said Thancred. "At your pace, no quicker. Here, I have an idea." He slid a little closer and set one hand on each shoulder, turning her so that her back faced him. Confused but trusting, she obliged.

His hands slid down to her shoulderblades, and pressed gently. Then, they began to slowly knead and massage. An electric shock ran through her, from the top of her ears to the tip of her tail.

"Gods, Wombat. Your back is stiff as a board!"

"That's not entirely surprising… considering everything."

"True," he said. His hands moved lower, continuing to massage her sore muscles. Under his skilled fingers, she felt the tension begin to melt away, and she let out an involuntary sigh.

"By the  _ Twelve _ , Thancred."

"Yes, that's a common reaction to my ministrations," he said. Though she couldn't see his face, she could  _ hear _ him smiling. "Usually, my patients aren't wound up quite so tight. I'm shocked your muscles didn't simply snap from all this tension."

She smiled wryly. "I suppose I'm a little too like my bow, eh?"

He just hummed in response. His hands moved up to her shoulders and  _ squeezed _ , and she let out a soft moan.

"Oh, that  _ hurt _ . But, like… in a good way. Damn, I haven't felt this loose in  _ moons _ ."

Using her shoulders as leverage, Thancred leaned forward and snuck a kiss on her cheek. "Glad to be of service, my lady."

She leaned back into him, now just enjoying his presence. "Thank you."

"Of course. How are you feeling now?"

How  _ was  _ she feeling? Still not much inclination toward actual  _ sex _ , but… "Mmh… maybe… one step further?"

"One step it is," Thancred agreed softly. He gently turned her to face him once more, and began undoing the clasp on her cloak.

She again found her heart racing, and with slightly trembling hands she reached up to help him. Her coat fell away, leaving her undershirt.

"Do you always wear this many layers?" said Thancred with mock exasperation.

"Usually," she said. "I like to feel cozy." She giggled when he shook his head at that, and pulled the shirt up over her head. Just her smallclothes remained, and her blush spread from her face to her chest.

"My, what have we here?" Thancred asked teasingly. Delicately, he reached toward the bra. His fingers brushed her bare skin and she shivered. "Aye, it seems we have a pair of masterpieces, wrapped like a present. The best part of presents…" Oh so gently, he grasped the top of one cup and peeled it back. "...is unwrapping them." He leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on the pale skin he'd uncovered. Another shiver ran through her.

Suddenly feeling emboldened by the pleasurable experience so far, Wombat reached forward and began unfastening his jacket. Thancred beamed and went about helping her.

"Now  _ that's _ the spirit!" He quickly shed the jacket, and Wombat was left marveling at his bare chest, rippling with muscles and criss-crossed with still-healing scars.

Tentatively, she reached out and traced a scar that ran from his shoulder down across his pec.

"That one's from my first encounter with a bandersnatch," he observed. "Don't think I quite had my wits about me back then."

Her hand traveled along the smooth, muscled chest to another line that ran straight down from his collarbone.

"One of those little flying bastards. I think it was a small dragon that time."

She found another scar, and again he recalled its origin. And again, and again, learning of his trials in the wilderness from the storybook of his scars.

Eventually, she ran out of lines to trace. She let out a long breath. "You've been through so much," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. We should have found you sooner."

"Nonsense," he replied. He brought a hand up under her chin, gently lifting her head to look him in the eye. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

Gingerly, he leaned in to kiss her. She met him halfway, her hands sliding up his muscular back to settle for clutching his shoulders. His hands found the clasp on her bra, finally removing the final obstacle between their bare chests. They pressed closer, into the kiss, and she felt how soft his skin was despite his many trials. His arms wrapped around her, and his muscles flexed against her skin. She melted into his embrace, lost in the sensations.

When finally their lips parted, she found herself breathless. "Gods, Thancred. You really are  _ unbelievably _ hot."

He smirked. "Oh, I know. You, my dear Wombat, are no slouch either."

She couldn't help but laugh giddily at that. She sighed and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. If this was what sex was like, perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

His hands traced light circles on her back as he held her, bringing to mind the heavenly massage. She purred contentedly, snuggling in closer.

He hummed quietly, and she felt his voice vibrate through his chest.

They remained for a time, simply enjoying one another's presence. Thancred was the one who finally broke the silence.

"Hmm… Wombat?"

She stirred slightly. "Mm?"

"I've been wondering for some time now. Why are you called Wombat?"

She blinked, then smiled. "I was wondering when someone was gonna ask me that."

"It certainly isn't what I'd call a traditional Miqo'te name."

"Very true." She nuzzled into his neck. "It was a nickname from my family. My mother called me her little wombat, since there was a time I wouldn't stop digging around looking for buried treasure."

He laughed at that, and she joined in. "Truly? Seems you were always destined to be an adventurer, eh?"

"It would seem so."

"What about Figaro, then?"

"Oh, well, have you heard the stories of the kingdom of Figaro? A desert kingdom, ruled by an inventor-king, and its capital a castle that could burrow through the desert sand." She smiled. "I always loved the idea of the king who was an inventor and his brother whose love of freedom led him beyond the castle."

Thancred chuckled. "Yes, that does sound rather fitting. Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?"

"Mm. Go ahead."

"What's your real name?"

She hesitated. "...Promise you won't laugh."

"Why would I laugh?"

"O-or tell the others!"

He chuckled quietly into her ear. "Very well, I promise."

She waited a moment longer. "My name… it's Kipih Kamme."

He  _ almost _ laughed, but remained true to his word. "Kippy Kammy?"

She groaned, though she sounded amused. She buried her face further in his neck. "Nooo, you're just like all the rest! I've almost  _ never _ heard a non-Miqo'te pronounce it right!"

Thancred did laugh at that, prompting her to sit up and playfully pout at him. "I jest, I jest," he said finally. "Kipih Kamme? What a delightfully distinctive name."

Her ears pricked up with surprise at the perfect pronunciation, and she smiled. "I suppose it is, yes. When I started out, I thought it would sound silly to people so I picked up a pseudonym."

"You're right, 'Wombat Figaro' sounds far less silly," he teased.

"Yeah, okay, well," she couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity he pointed out. "It  _ does _ have a certain ring to it. I suppose I didn't realize how odd some names out there are, and by the time I thought to change my mind the moniker had fully stuck. I don't mind, though."

"Our little secret, then," said Thancred fondly. "Kipih. My little Kipih."

He pulled her toward him again and she did not resist, instead leaning willingly into the kiss. His hands wandered downward, and she smiled against his lips, finally ready for whatever came next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Wombat has an actual name!


	4. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light was finally able to enjoy herself-- just for one night, to forget about all the world's ills.
> 
> But though she rested, trouble did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmhmhm, I love writing emotional fallout~

Wombat was practically glowing as the group crossed the plains of Western Coerthas. Thancred had introduced her to a whole new  _ world _ of feelings and sensations, and had remained true to his word the whole time. Never did she feel they were going too fast, or that she was uncomfortable with what they were doing.

It was only a shame that the black chocobo couldn’t carry two people. She would have loved to soar to Ishgard with Thancred at her back. She did the next best thing, at least, offering him her trusty companion Apollo, whose inherent ability of flight she’d recently managed to awaken. He was a calm, reliable steed, and didn’t mind one bit as the stranger mounted him. Wombat, meanwhile, traveled astride the black chocobo Haurchefant had gifted her, all that time ago. She had hardly ridden Apollo since his death, so desperately did she cling to his memory.

That wasn’t what she was thinking about right now, though. Right now, she was focused on the incredibly handsome man riding a striking purple chocobo through the sky beside her. Y’shtola had finally given up on teasing the lovestruck duo just after they left Dravania, when she realized it was having no appreciable effect. Alphinaud seemed content to just pretend not to notice.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she called to Thancred over the whistling wind. Their mounts flew side-by-side in formation, skillfully maintaining the perfect distance. “Flying, I mean. I have to show you the Sea of Clouds, once everything’s more settled.”

“I’d like that very much,” he replied. “Of course, no sight is quite as breathtaking as your smile. And oh, how  _ radiant _ you look right now, astride that noble steed.”

She and the chocobo both preened at the praise. “True, it may be hard to admire the scenery when I’m so busy admiring  _ you,”  _ she said. “Still, I think it… would…”

She trailed off as she noticed thin lines of smoke spiraling into the sky, rising from the distant skyline of Ishgard. All levity abruptly fled her, replaced by a burning pit of dread. Had Nidhogg’s brood attacked again? Could they have rebounded so quickly? Were her friends okay?

Without another word, she urged the black chocobo to fly faster. The steed complied without hesitation, just as concerned as her rider was. Out of the corner of her eye, Wombat saw Thancred and the others follow suit.

_ ‘Please,' _ she prayed silently.  _ ‘Don’t let it be too late.’ _

_ \--- _

It took under a bell for them to close the remaining distance, but every second felt like a second too long. Her chocobo had scarce touched the ground when Wombat leaped off and began sprinting for the gates. She stopped the first Temple Knight she saw, her eyes frantic. “What happened here? Please, tell me!”

The knight looked tired, but not panicked, a fact she chose to take comfort in. “We suspect arson; fires started throughout the city after word of--”

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said, interrupting him with a hasty thank you before taking off for the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly. Arson, after everything that had happened? It could only be in response to the death of the Archbishop. If that was true, Ser Aymeric was in danger.

Firmalbert, the guard at the doors, saw her coming as soon as she entered the plaza. Wordlessly, he held the door open for her, allowing her to maintain her momentum as she entered. She quietly decided to buy the man a drink later.

The bard skidded to a stop before the desk in the center of the room, breathing hard. Lucia and Hilda stood behind it, and both looked up sharply at her entrance. There were deep circles under Lucia’s eyes, and Hilda looked less energetic than usual. Wombat looked back and forth between them. “I just… just returned from Dravania,” she panted. “Saw smoke rising from the city… What happened?”

The two exchanged glances, their expressions grim. Wombat’s heart sank.

“...Is Aymeric alright?”

Thudding footsteps sounded from the door behind her, marking the others catching up to her. They were just in time to hear Hilda’s answer.

“He’s in bed,” she said bitterly, “sleeping off a knife in the gut.”

Wombat felt her heart seize. “A… knife…”

Lucia calmly elaborated, though her voice was taut with stress. “There was an attempt on Ser Aymeric’s life last night,” she explained. “By Halone’s grace, he was accompanied by Lord Edmont and his son Artoirel. Thanks to their swift actions, the assassin was caught and Ser Aymeric’s life spared.”

A trickle of relief allowed Wombat to breathe again. “So he’ll… he’ll be…”

Lucia nodded. “The chirurgeons predict that he’ll make a full recovery.”

Wombat almost collapsed with relief. She heard the others continue the conversation around her, discussing plans regarding the arson, but for her it was enough that her friend was okay. She would not lose another this day.

_ Last night _ … something quietly clicked into place in her head, and her stomach lurched. Last night. While she had been…  _ playing _ with Thancred, Aymeric had bled in the streets. While she enjoyed herself, a dear friend nearly died.

She caught herself staring at Thancred, and realized abruptly that he was returning her gaze, his visible eye narrowed. Ashamed of her thoughts, she tore her eyes away and pulled the brim of her hat down to hide her face.

The others finished planning, and Wombat numbly fell into old habits. Go where she was told, do as she was asked. It wasn’t until she emerged from the stairs into the Pillars that she noticed that she was accompanied by Thancred and Hilda. Thancred was still looking at her. She was too scared to meet his gaze.

The next time she emerged from her thoughts, she found herself standing with them in the market.

"I'll ask around the Jeweled Crozier," Hilda said. "Wombat, why don't you go talk to the refugees outside the Vault?"

"Mm," she acknowledged quietly. "Yeah, okay. 

"I've a mind to make certain inquiries myself," said Thancred. "Why don't we meet back at the stairway to the Brume in a bell or so, see if we can't rendezvous with Alphinaud and Y'shtola."

"Sounds good to me," said Hilda. She turned and started down the street without a word.

Wombat followed suit, heading the opposite direction. She often went out of her way to avoid walking past the Vault these days, but she knew it was a childish habit of avoidance. She had a  _ job _ to do.

“Wombat.”

She only hesitated slightly, indicated only in a slight stutter in her stride. No, she was not up to talking to Thancred right now.

“ _ Wombat. _ Come now, can’t you at least acknowledge me?”

His teasing tone of voice concealed an undercurrent of hurt. Wombat squeezed her eyes shut and kept walking. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. “We… have important matters to attend right now,” she said, voice carefully neutral.

“ _ Kipih. _ ”

Wombat stopped walking.

Thancred caught up to her, though he remained a respectful few fulms away. “Ahh, there now! I thought that might get your attention.”

Carefully tilting her head so the brim of her hat hid her eyes, Wombat glanced over at him. His skillful concealment of emotion almost made the concern in his eye hurt worse.

“Please. Tell me you don’t blame yourself for what happened to the lord commander.”

She flicked her eyes to the ground, unable to meet his any more. “...I should have been here,” she said quietly.

“Kipih, what would your presence possibly have changed? How could you have known to accompany Ser Aymeric at that specific time?”

“ _ I should have been here, _ ” she repeated sharply. “Thancred. We have a job to do. Please, can we have this conversation later?”

She could feel his gaze linger on her for several long seconds. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Very well.”

When she looked up, he was gone.  _ Rogues. _ She decided not to worry about it and instead resumed her mission, trying not to dwell overmuch on her problems.

Once she’d returned to performing familiar duties, she fell into her old habits with ease. Asking the right questions, noting the details, picking out the important folk in the crowd. There wasn’t much to glean, but she was satisfied enough after talking to a few folks that she decided it was time to leave.

Thancred and Hilda were already at the meeting place, chatting away. They made a pretty good pair, those two; the underground leader and the gallant rogue. She waved as she approached, and the three departed for the Brume. She could feel Thancred’s attention on her, but she continued to focus on the task at hand. She didn’t have the energy to deal with his questions right now.

...He was probably going to chide her for this, too. Oh well.

They found Alphinaud and Y'shtola with little issue-- along with the arsonist, already caught and bound. She wasn’t sure why she found it somewhat surprising, but she was pleased regardless. Alphinaud had come a long way, for sure.

The issue now seemed to be getting the man to talk. He was stubborn and abrasive, and none of them could quite figure out how to coax the truth out of him.

Until Thancred stepped forward. Wielding his words as skillfully as his blades, he wove a brilliant bluff around the captive. The man fell for it without even realizing he was being manipulated, only stopping once it was pointed out to him. Wombat took in the stunned look on his face and somehow managed to feel even  _ more _ attracted to Thancred. As the arsonist was carried off, she turned toward the rogue to tell him as much, before remembering earlier events. Thancred raised an eyebrow, looking bemused.

Wombat shut her mouth and hid under her hat, blushing furious red. “...Alright, let’s talk,” she muttered. She grabbed Thancred’s wrist and pulled him toward the Forgotten Knight, trying to ignore the confused stares of her comrades.

Sounding amused, Thancred piped up from behind her. “Off to the inn already? I suppose that’s one way to--” Her blush deepened and she dug her nails into his wrist. “Ow--! Alright, alright, not in a joking mood,  _ duly _ noted!”

Fortunately, the innkeep did not ask any questions, though Wombat hated that she knew what he likely assumed. No, there would be none of that. As far as she was concerned, that was the entire reason she was in this situation.

They arrived in the cozy little room, and Wombat finally released Thancred’s wrist. He let out a soft hiss and examined the indents from her nails, uttering some small quip or other. She wasn’t listening. She dropped onto the bed and fumed quietly, not even quite sure why she felt so  _ angry _ . At herself, for not being there for Aymeric? At Thancred? At Aymeric’s attacker?

Well, certainly the last one. Luckily for the would-be assassin, he was already safely in captivity; she might otherwise have been tempted to do something she’d rather regret.

Thancred crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, facing her. “So.”

Wombat let out a noncommittal grumble of acknowledgement and looked up.

They stared at each other for a moment before Thancred let out a sigh. “Wombat, you must let this go. There’s nothing you could have done, and it doesn’t matter-- Ser Aymeric is fine. Injured, yes, but otherwise alive and well. You needn’t take up the burden of  _ everyone’s _ safety by yourself.”

“Then what would you have me do?” she said harshly. “I’ve watched friends die before my very eyes while I did nothing. I’ve come back from some journey elsewhere to find that ruin had descended while I was away.”

Thancred’s expression darkened and he looked away. He knew precisely what she was referring to. “Kipih. What happened at the Waking Sands was no more your fault than my own. It took me a very long time to come to terms with it myself, considering…”

“I know,” she said quietly, saving him from finishing the thought. She dropped her head into her hands. “I just… Gods, we could have arrived  _ yesterday _ if I hadn’t… if we hadn’t… if you hadn’t  _ seduced  _ me!”

The words flew out before she could stop them, and she regretted them instantly. The concern in Thancred’s eye turned cold, and she could tell her words had cut deep, far deeper than she’d ever intended.

She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, to tell him he was right, but he’d already straightened up and turned away.

“Well, we’ve successfully determined that this conversation is going  _ nowhere _ useful,” he said sharply. “I will take my leave then.” He reached the door and grabbed the handle.

Wombat rose to her feet. “Thancred,  _ wait-- _ ”

He didn’t say a word, just yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

She stared after him, tears welling in her eyes. She was so  _ stupid. _ Clearly it wasn’t enough for her to agonize over every hurt she failed to prevent, she had to go out of her way to  _ cause more. _

After learning of Aymeric’s injury, she expected to find herself regretting her evening with Thancred. Instead, looking at her feelings, she found quite the opposite. Thancred was right, after all. And now she’d ruined that, too.

She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but when she woke upon a tearstained pillow it was several bells later. Judging by the darkness outside the window, it was well into the night. Reluctantly, she pried herself up off the bed.

Just as she was standing up and adjusting her bedraggled clothes, there was a polite knock on the door. She blinked. “Um. Yes?”

“Wombat? You in there? It’s Alphinaud…”

“Oh, um, you can come in.” She grabbed her hat from where it’d fallen while she slept and looked toward the door as it eased open. “Hey, Alphi.”

He entered, a little tentative and looking quite concerned. “I’m glad I finally found you. It was a little surprising when you didn’t come back with Thancred. I asked where you were, but he was in quite a state, and didn’t really answer… what happened?”

Wombat hastily donned her hat, habitually pulling the brim down to hide her ashamed flush. “We…” No, that wasn’t right. They hadn’t had a fight. “... _ I _ said something stupid.”

The young Elezen frowned, a little lost. “Ah…”

“...The attempt on Aymeric’s life,” she elaborated, “I’ve been… kind of dwelling on it. Blaming myself for not being there.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Alphinaud firmly. “Even were you in the city--”

“I  _ know _ ,” said Wombat achingly. “I know. But logic can’t seem to stop the thoughts. Thancred was telling me the same things, but  _ gods _ I’m such an idiot…”

Judging by the light blush that spread across Alphinaud’s face, he successfully connected the dots. “I see.” He sighed. “Well. I came here to tell you that the interrogation of the arsonist has concluded for now, and we’ll be convening at the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly to discuss what we’ve learned. Thancred should be there, so perhaps you’ll get the chance to apologize.”

“Right,” said Wombat quietly. She gave Alphinaud a nod, then followed him out of the room. They walked the short distance together, Wombat doing her best to quell her rising nerves.

Inside the building, the tone was noticeably lighter than it had been last time. As near as Wombat could gather, Aymeric was recovering faster than expected, dispelling some of the anxiety among the group.

As the discussion began, Wombat tried to catch Thancred’s eye. This time, however, it was he who was determinedly avoiding meeting her gaze; she was still the one feeling wretched about it, though. Eventually, she was forced to give up, instead reluctantly focusing on the topic at hand.

“...I daresay there’s no shortage of parties who’d like to see the status quo preserved,” Thancred was saying tiredly. “Do any likely suspects spring to mind?”

Wombat could think of  _ plenty _ , just off the top of her head, but remained silent. She didn’t know  _ enough _ about the people and the motivations, having only been here for a few moons. She could see her thoughtful expression reflected on the faces of the others.

The silence was broken by the sound of a door opening. As one, those assembled turned to look, and Wombat felt her heart clench in her chest.

Ser Aymeric limped into the room, flanked by Edmont and Artoirel. “Far too many to count,” he grated out in response to Thancred’s question. A pained grunt escaped him as he came to a stop, his hand twitching toward his injury.

“Lord Commander, your wounds,” said Lucia sharply. The way she stepped forward, it seemed she had half a mind to march him back to bed herself.

He waved her off. “...Are healing well, thank you.”

“Aymeric…” said Wombat chidingly. Seeing him here-- conscious, walking, speaking,  _ very much alive _ \-- was an incredible balm to her troubled mind. At the same time, however, the way he struggled to maintain his upright posture, the pained clench of his jaw, his labored breathing… it broke her heart to see him like this. “You need to lie down. You’re  _ allowed _ to take a break, you know.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “I’m afraid I must differ. Lest we forget, these men would sooner put their own city to the  _ torch _ than see it change.”

Between his stubborn will and his logical argument, nobody could find it in them to deny him. Instead, they resumed their discussion with renewed urgency.

Just as Aymeric was wondering at the possible reaction to the arsonist’s capture, a knight burst through the doors of the Congregation. Everyone turned to look, shocked at the sudden entrance. Aymeric managed to pull himself fully upright as the knight staggered to a stop in front of him.

“Lord Commander, Ser! An armed mob has seized control of the Vault!”

Aymeric’s expression darkened. “...And now we know.”

Wombat half-listened as the knight delivered his report. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the result of her last foray into the Vault.

A spear of light.

A cracked shield.

Blood.

_ Death. _

Her eyes glazed over, no longer seeing the room in front of her. She could only barely hear the continued conversation, lost in the past. She was hearing his last words all over again, asking her to smile. How could she smile, when…

One of the voices from the real world began to distinguish itself from the rest. It was closer, and it was saying something familiar.

“...Kamme… you must return to the present. Come now, we need our Warrior of Light… Kipih…”

She blinked. The memories retreated, like a demon returning to its lair at the crack of dawn. Slowly, the world came back into focus around her. The conversation was still ongoing, progressing without her. But one person was crouching beside her, close enough to comfort but far enough to grant her space to recover. She blinked again, shaking herself free of the past.

“Ah, there you are. I was worried for a moment there.”

Slowly, Wombat turned her head to see Thancred, hiding his feelings behind an easy smile as usual.

“Thancred?” She felt tears forming, felt so undeserving of his attentions. “I’m sorry, I--”

He held a finger to her lips. “Hush, my dear. Your words may have stung, but I know they were not meant in earnest.” He straightened up and wrapped a steadying hand around her shoulders. A light chuckle escaped him, causing her to look up. He shook his head. “And here I was determined to give you the silent treatment for the rest of the day. I suppose I’m just too much a gentleman to not help a lady in distress.”

The hollowness that had settled in Wombat’s chest began to fill back up with warmth. She leaned into Thancred’s side. “ _ Thank you, _ ” she whispered.

That was around when she noticed the others all staring at them. She was still too numb to register embarrassment, instead just staring back.

Aymeric was the first to speak up, making no mention of the pair’s position. “Are you all right, Wombat?”

Bless his heart. She found the strength to gather herself up, once more donning her mantle as the Warrior of Light, and replied with one of her infamous stoic nods. “I am now. Thank you.”

“She appears to be suffering from an excess of stress,” Thancred explained. He looked down at her with a tiny smirk. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I find that beating the seven  _ hells _ out of people who threaten innocents is  _ marvelous _ stress relief. Care to try it?”

Finally, Wombat felt herself fully return to the present. She retrieved her bow from her back and held it up with a sharp grin. “What a wonderful suggestion, Thancred. I’d like nothing more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I accidentally gave Wombat PTSD. Can you really blame her, though?
> 
> Anyway, we can add Aymeric to the List Of People Who Need To Go The Fuck Back To Bed Already. _Oh, yes, I was mortally wounded yesterday but I'm perfectly fine to lead a full-on assault on a fortified location! I can fight several people by myself!_
> 
> I s2g these boys will be the death of me.


	5. Hear, Feel, Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are just out of reach.
> 
> Accepting loss is never easy.
> 
> Managing your response to it, less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place post-Antitower.
> 
> ...With all that entails.

_ Hear. Feel. Think. _

These were the last things Wombat wanted to do right now. But they were the will of the Mothercrystal, and of her dear friend. She could not, would not refuse the Word of Hydaelyn.

And so, she heard the surprised cries of her friends as she reappeared.

Felt the solid, slightly damp floorboards of Matoya's cave under her feet.

Thought on how she could  _ possibly _ explain.

Heard Thancred ask, "Where is Minfilia?"

Felt her heart break.

Thought of how useless she was.

She explained as best she could, and she heard the others discussing it. She could feel how confused they all were, how lost and uncertain. She thought about what may have been done differently, wishing Minfilia had come back with her.

Thancred stormed from the cave, and Wombat heard Alphinaud call after him. The young Elezen clenched his fists and hung his head, quietly uttering his despair. Matoya spoke harshly, firmly, and Wombat felt the wizened mage's words cut deeply into her heart. Her thoughts buzzed, unsure of where to settle.

She decided to follow Thancred. If nothing else, she needed to apologize. She'd failed.

He had already walked far. She found him by following the trail of dead creatures, the foolish beasts who had tried to attack him. She heard the sounds of battle further on, near the river. She quickened her pace, felt her heart skip a beat when a bear landed a swipe on his shoulder. She nocked an arrow and felled the creature with perfect, deadly aim. Thancred looked up, clutching his arm, and for a moment she thought he would crack a smile and a quip, that all would be as normal.

Instead, he glared coldly. She shrank back, but did not leave.

"I could have managed on my own," he said.

"I know, but I was worried."

"If you truly care so much, then why did Minfilia not return with you? I placed my trust in you, and you threw it away!"

The words stung, harder than any physical hurt she'd ever received. "I'm sorry, Thancred," she whispered. "I tried. I  _ tried.  _ I don't know what I could have done different."

"Then perhaps the mantle of 'Savior of Eorzea' suits you ill," he hissed. "For you failed to save the one person who mattered most."

She heard the words as they pierced her heart.

Felt empty as she viewed the rage burning in his eyes.

Could not think, for her mind was numb.

She fled. She knew not where her steps would take her, only that they need take her away from here. Away from her failure, away from the pain.

She could still hear his words ringing in her ears, still feel the hurt. She did not want to think any more. She only wanted to run.

She knew not how she arrived back in Foundation. Nor was she aware of her steps guiding her to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly. She barely registered the sight of the knight who guarded the door that lead from the lobby. Though neither spoke a word, he opened the door for her. He understood why she was there, even if she herself did not.

The path to Aymeric’s office was a familiar one. As her senses slowly returned to her, she could hear hushed conversation from within. She felt the solid, oaken weight of the doors, comfortingly real. She entered, looked up to see Aymeric and Lucia pausing their conversation, and thought that whatever they were discussing must have been much more important than herself.

Aymeric evidently disagreed. “My friend,” he greeted warmly. “Please, do not hesitate so. It is always a pleasure to see you.”

He stood, and Lucia backed up a step and turned to the door with a smile. Both of their smiles faded when instead of her normal enthusiasm, Wombat shuffled inside and closed the door with a numb mechanicalness.

He rounded his desk in an instant, coming to her side and radiating concern. Lucia approached as well, though she hung back. Wombat heard her excuse herself, followed by the door opening and closing. She felt the warmth coming from her dear friend as he rested his hands on her shoulders, knelt down to her eye level. She thought of how little she deserved such kindness.

“What happened?” he asked. When she didn’t respond right away, he prodded further. “Your… search for the missing Scions…”

Wombat bit her lip and dipped her head down, hiding her eyes from view with the brim of her hat. “I failed her.” She began to tremble.

She heard him say something as he straightened up, though she failed to discern what he said, and felt him guide her to the far end of the room. He eased her into his chair and again knelt at her side, gently asked her to explain. She tried to think of how to frame the story, how to tell him what had happened without shattering what remained of her composure.

“Minfilia,” she said quietly. “Our leader. Our heart.”

“The Antecedent,” Aymeric said quietly. “Yes, I’ve heard stories, though I regret that I never got to meet with her myself.”

Wombat squeezed her eyes shut and tried to still her trembling. She was glad of the chair, as she was certain her legs would else have given out by now. “We found her. She was  _ right there. _ I spoke to her, could reach out and touch her, but…”

_ Hear. Feel. Think. _

“I… still don’t understand it. She became one with the Mothercrystal, I think. Somehow. And though I wanted nothing more than to take her hand and draw her home with me…”

Aymeric leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking. “I see. It was beyond your control, then.”

“I’ve slain  _ gods _ , and yet…”

She felt a hand on hers, a gentle squeeze. “They were no gods, my friend. Mere reflections of fanaticism that took the form and power of the beings they were meant to embody. For someone of your talents, slaying creatures such as they is trivial.”

She heard his words, but felt little comfort from them. “...Yet I could not save a friend.”

Thancred’s words rang in her ears, still. Tears began to well in her eyes.

“I failed to save a friend, and I lost another.”

The tears broke free, and she doubled over in her seat. Aymeric said nothing, just held her hand and let her cry, offering his silent support. Though he did not fully understand the warring thoughts and emotions that burdened her, he remained steadfast by her side. 

It was some time before she trusted herself to speak once more. She coughed lightly, wiped her eyes on a sleeve. Aymeric released her hand, leaned back to give her space to recover.

She sighed, staring tiredly at her hands. “Thancred may never forgive me,” she said quietly. The words no longer stung her, the thought of it no longer caused her heart to clench. She was too tired to feel such things right now. “She means…  _ meant  _ so much to him, and I failed to save her.”

“I’ve never known the Warrior of Light to give up on lost causes,” said Aymeric, the slightest hint of a teasing tone in his voice. She looked up sharply, questioningly. “Wombat, you have achieved the impossible more times than any could possibly count. What is one more impossibility to add to the list?”

“Do you mean… Minfilia?”

He nodded. “Though I know little of these things, I believe she is not yet beyond saving. It may take moons, perhaps even years, but if anybody can yet save her, it is you.”

“I could…” Wombat stared quietly at her hands. Then, slowly, she began to smile. “We were able to find Y’shtola, lost in the Lifestream, and  _ pull her free _ . Gods, what  _ can’t _ we do?”

She looked up at Aymeric with her cautious smile, and he beamed. “ _ That’s _ the Wombat Figaro I know,” he said warmly. He rose to his feet and offered her a hand.

“Thank you,” she said. She reached up and accepted his helping hand, not letting go even once she was on her feet. “I know not why I came here in my grief, but full glad I am that I did.”

“As am I,” he said. “Though it pained me to see you in such a state, my joy at seeing you restored is far greater. That  _ I _ could help you find your strength once more… I have no words to express it.”

She smiled, still clasping his hand in hers. “I apologize for interrupting you and Lucia earlier. It’s too kind of you to set aside whatever matters demand your attention for my sake.”

“Not at all, my friend!” He set his other hand atop hers, his smile lighting up the room. “In fact, I had a mind to send for you before you arrived. You see, Lucia and I were discussing a peace conference, to be held in Falcon’s Nest…”

Wombat heard the eagerness in his voice and couldn’t help but smile. She could feel his pride, his hope for Ishgard flowing from him in waves.

_ How fortunate, _ she thought idly.  _ How fortunate Ishgard is to have such a noble guardian. _

No matter what he asked of her, she would be happy to do it. For Ishgard, yes, but more than that, for _ him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was around when I realized I accidentally stumbled into a potential relationship with Aymeric.
> 
> How is he so Good? That shouldn't be allowed. It's unfair to the rest of us.


	6. Reflection, Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a path she's trod many times.
> 
> Though she's chosen a new path in life, this one remains the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked up Gunbreaker and immediately fell in love, switching to maining it full-time. Somehow, it fit Wombat's narrative arc all too well.

It was a bright, clear day in Central Coerthas. The air was so crisp and cold it almost hurt to breathe in, but the adventurer decided it was a welcome change from her recent locales. The haunted old Haukke Manor in the Twelveswood was a common site for adventuring parties, but the already humid air of the Shroud became truly suffocating in the stillness of the old house. Taking a deep breath and feeling the prickle of frosted air in her lungs, Wombat allowed the remaining tension from the raid melt from her bones.

The walk northeast of Dragonhead was silent today, save for the crunch-squeak of fresh snow underfoot and the yet unfamiliar clinking of her metal armor. It didn't feel quite as foreign as it used to, the weight settling a little more familiar than it had nearly a moon ago. Setting aside her bow and light armor in favor of a gunblade and steel plate would seem an odd choice for an outside observer-- after all, the famed Warrior of Light was known for her distinctive modern-styled Starseeker bow and her signature purple bard's hat. She was elegant and light in battle, dancing around the enemy like the wind while peppering them with death. What business had she, taking up the weapon of a protector, that of a living shield?

To others, it was nonsensical. To her, and those close to her… it was the most natural decision in the world. Her steps turned northward, and a gentle wind tugged at her scarf. She smiled at the familiar sensation of a flowing garment; that was one thing she'd never abandon. No, to her it wasn't the grace or the range that mattered most. It was protecting those she cared about. That was all that _ever_ mattered.

And she'd failed too many times.

The clear weather let her see the stone cairns long before she neared them. The pair of aevis that patrolled the area saw her and slunk toward the cliffs; they knew better than to bother her, regardless of the weapon she carried.

Wombat emerged from her thoughts as she saw the dragons; she was close now. It was a familiar walk, and not a particularly long one, but it always seemed to stretch on forever. Now, though, with the towers of Ishgard rising above the hill, her pace slowed. Not long after, the lone granite marker came into view. As always, Wombat averted her eyes from the shield as she knelt in front of the stone. Traced the name with her fingers, noted the freshly placed flowers at its foot.

"Hello, my friend," she said softly. She sat back, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "It's been a while. I meant to visit, but I've been a little busy." She chuckled lightly.

Gingerly, Wombat reached back and removed her gunblade from its sling, setting it in front of her in the snow. "I've been learning to use this recently. It's very different from what I'm used to, but it feels right somehow." She retrieved the weapon and gently wiped the moisture off before returning it to its place. "How do you like the new look? It's taken a bit of getting used to, but it _does_ look pretty cool. I think I'm starting to understand why you knights are always so damn foolhardy." She smiled sadly. "You feel invincible when wearing this much steel, don't you? When I charge ahead and swing my blade, when I draw the enemies' ire so my friends may proceed unharmed… I think I understand."

The image came to her mind, unbidden. A flash of light, a shattered shield, a dying friend. She squeezed her eyes shut and a single tear slid free. "I took up the gunblade so that I could protect the people I care about. Donned the armor so I can place myself between them and danger." Her grip on her legs tightened, and she clenched her teeth. "I'm tired of watching people I love die. I'm always too late…"

The warrior fell silent for a time, slowly gathering herself. "...Yes, I think I understand now. You were always so proud to be a knight, weren't you, Haurchefant? When you spoke of how there is no nobler calling than to protect others, you meant it. I could tell. And when you…" she stopped, took a breath. "When you saved me. You never thought to hesitate. All that mattered… was protecting the ones you loved."

She let her hands drop to the snow. "...Yeah. I get it now. At the time, I was… well, I was feeling a lot of things. But one of them was anger, for how you never thought of your own safety. But now, here I am." A laugh found its way out, short and harsh. "Would you like to know where I was for the past few bells? In a haunted house in the Shroud, throwing myself at ghosts and skeletons and taking hits from them so my teammates wouldn't have to." She smiled. "I suppose after all that, what I really want to say is thank you. Silly, right? I've visited… gods, how many times now? And I never thought to thank you for saving my life. I think deep down I was still angry at you for getting killed, but… well, I get it now. So thank you, Haurchefant. Thanks for taking the hit so… so I didn't have to." The tears began to flow again, and she scrubbed furiously at them before they could freeze to her face. " _Gods,_ I miss you," she whispered. "I hope the halls of the Fury are as wonderful as they all say, because you deserve the best. If, whenever I eventually die, I find out Halone's been treating you any less than perfectly, she and I are gonna have some _words._ "

She couldn't help but giggle at that image. Hells, she'd killed tons of godlike beings already, surely that lent _some_ intimidation factor to her words, right? The giggle broke into a full laugh, and for a moment she could have sworn she felt Haurchefant beside her, laughing just as hard at her absurd threat.

It took quite some time, but Wombat finally managed to quiet down, still stifling a chuckle or two. "Now, don't think I plan to die soon, of course. I'm gonna keep tearing through primals like crazy, so make sure you're taking care of yourself in the meantime, yeah?" She let out a long sigh, and rose to her feet. Pulling the gunblade from her back once more, she held it out toward the glittering silhouette of Ishgard in a salute, the blade gleaming in the sun. "I will always miss you, my friend, but I will fight on. For you, for all those I’ve lost… but most of all, for those whom I may yet save."

She remained for a few minutes longer after holstering the blade once more. Silence, reflection... resolve. Her gaze drifted to the broken shield, to the jagged, charred hole. She couldn't help the wry smile as she realized that it had changed in her head; no longer was it a symbol of failure and despair, but rather a show of defiance and will, the refusal to give in no matter the odds. The stubborn grit of a protector. She nodded silently, then turned and began the long trek back. For those who remained, she would give everything she had to protect them.

\---

A shadow separated from one of the stone cairns, watching silently as the warrior walked back the way she came.

Thancred tried not to feel guilty as he reflected on the words the wind carried his way. He looked back toward the cliff, toward the memorial to a fallen hero. He’d followed her with the thought of investigating where she disappeared to every few days, but he’d learned so much more than that.

Protecting people… more than ever, he regretted his outburst from back then. He’d make it up to her. Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying, _you're_ crying.
> 
> What do you mean, it's both? That's cheating.
> 
> T-T


	7. Cold Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, at long last, the end of the Dragonsong War is in sight.
> 
> Unfortunately, not everyone is happy about this.
> 
> Caught in her own emotional turmoil as Thancred shows his face once more, Wombat might not be able to save the peace conference. At least she might be able to save something else...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up way longer than I expected, but I'm incredibly happy with it.
> 
> This is also probably the most thoroughly researched fic I've written yet.
> 
> Wombat, actually researching game events before writing? It's more likely than you think.

Never before had the Warrior of Light thought to call such a chilly place  _ warm _ . However, with the joyous, anticipatory atmosphere and the happy mingling of highborn and lowborn in the settlement of Falcon’s Nest, ‘warm’ was the word that came to her mind.

Despite Lucia’s suggestion that she take the opportunity to relax for a time, Wombat found herself pacing restlessly across the chilled stone. Too much had happened, and too much was yet up in the air, and her thoughts refused to settle and let her be.

It was with no small hint of amusement that Lucia approached her again and suggested she speak to the people gathered around the settlement. It wasn’t so much a task as a distraction, but it was one that Wombat welcomed nonetheless. Idle chat and acting as a symbol of hope sounded mindless enough to keep her occupied for now.

Of course, nothing could ever be simple, and word of overeager knights at the convictory started her worries buzzing all over again. She spotted Artoirel off in the eastern section of the plaza and hastened over to him. Evidently, Lucia had heard the same whispers Wombat had, as they arrived at the same time. After only a brief conversation the two set off, looking to set things straight.

Once more, Wombat was left with her thoughts. And Emmanellain. Oh, he was beckoning her over.

The young lord waved cheerily as she approached. “Wombat, old girl! Fancy seeing you here!”

She waved back, pushing her chaotic thoughts deep down. “Emmanellain, Honoroit, hello,” she said, smiling. “It’s good to see you doing well.”

“And you as well,” said Honoroit with a courteous bow. “Here for the peace conference?”

“What else would she be here for?” said Emmanellain. “There’s naught out here.”

She shook her head. “You should know I’ve been to and from here many times. Where there are people, there are tasks that need doing. I’m an adventurer first, remember?”

“Ah, yes, of course, of course,” he said, clearly flustered. He recovered as quickly as ever, smacking a fist into his open palm. “Ah, I know! As an adventurer, you are  _ eminently _ qualified to help me! You see, my dear brother doesn’t trust me to leave the town, and I shudder to think of the wild beasts out there that may threaten our guests.”

Wombat and Honoroit shared an amused glance as Emmanellain cheerfully spun his excuses. They were used to it. She nodded to him as he finished, chuckling. “No problem. I’ll take care of those wolves before you can blink.”

“I knew I could count on you, old girl! Go on, give them what for!”

As she mounted her trusty chocobo, Wombat had to admit that there was a pleasant familiarity in the task. Killing monsters,  _ that _ was something she knew she couldn’t get wrong. Even with the unfamiliar weight of her new weapon and armor, she felt confident. She’d already proven her mettle by now, anyway.

Apollo landed gracefully just outside the area Emmanellain had marked for her, and she gave the bird an affectionate pat. Then, she shouldered her gunblade and turned. A pack of wolves, catching the scent of potential prey, crested a snowdrift, slavering.

Wombat grinned, and pulled the trigger.

She sailed toward the creatures, launched by the force of her weapon’s aether blast. She landed and immediately swung her momentum into a wide circle around her, halting the wolves in their attack. She felt a set of jaws clamp onto her armored leg and smirked. She hardly even felt it through the new, metal armor. She braced, gripped her blade, and spun in the opposite direction, dislodging the beast and sending the rest scattering. She felt the energy from the attack hum through her gunblade, begging to be set loose.

She eagerly obliged it, singling out the healthiest-looking of the wolves and swinging the gunblade in an arc over her head. As it impacted, she pulled the trigger, loosing an explosion. She jerked her blade sideways and used the rest of the energy to propel it through and away from her target, just as Radovan had showed her. The wolf crumpled to the ground, leaving the rest circling uncertainly.

“By all means,” she said cheerfully, “try again.”

She didn’t wait for their answer, but leaped into action once more, becoming a whirlwind of singing steel and exploding aether. Mere seconds later, she stood panting in the middle of the bloodied snow, the cooling metal of her gunblade clicking in time to her pounding heart.

It was always a rush, fighting like this. She never felt this way after a battle when she wielded her bow; it was a cool, calculated affair, standing back and judging distance and wind, calmly picking off her targets and letting the battle flow through her to emerge in the form of song. It was almost… cleansing.

But as a gunbreaker, it was such a  _ raw _ experience. It felt  _ good _ to charge straight into the action, to shrug off attacks and become a force of sheer aggression. When she fought in a group before, she would always be on the edge of the action, but now?  _ She was the center of attention. _

Since taking up the gunblade, she’d also found her emotions easier to keep in check. Perhaps it was good for her to let loose like this. Not only did it make it easier to protect those around her, but it was sheer  _ catharsis _ .

Finally feeling her pulse return to normal, Wombat holstered her gunblade and returned to where Apollo waited patiently. “Alright, boy, on to the next location, eh?”

\---

The Warrior of Light who returned to Falcon’s Nest less than a bell later was a much happier one than she who had left. This wasn’t lost on Emmanellain and Honoroit, either, who both greeted her warmly as she appeared.

“Wombat Figaro, wolves’ bane!” cheered Emmanellain. Wombat had to laugh at that. He nodded proudly as she approached. “It pleases me to inform you that I have completed my rounds, and that all is well in Falcon’s Nest.”

“Well done, ser,” said Wombat, trying to hide the teasing in her tone. “Truly, the town is safer for your presence.”

Behind him, Honoroit shrugged helplessly, though his smile spoke of appreciation for Wombat humoring the young lord.

“Oh yes,” said Emmanellain, snapping his fingers. “There was someone looking for you. A grizzled fellow-- you know, the one who made that arsonist confess. Clever, that.”

Wombat’s ears pricked up. He had her  _ full _ attention.

“Thancred, was it?” He glanced at Honoroit for confirmation. The younger Elezen nodded, and Emmanellain looked back up at Wombat. “He was asking after you.”

“Thancred was…?” Wombat echoed, all at once grappling with a whole  _ host _ of emotions. The last time she’d seen him was… right after she emerged from the Antitower.

When she’d failed to save Minfilia.

She realized Emmanellain was still talking, and quickly snapped herself back to reality. He was asking for her map…?

She blinked and handed it over, trying to hide her lack of awareness. Emmanellain didn’t seem to notice, and if Honoroit did he made no mention of it.

Emmanellain pointed to a spot on her map. “Yes, right here. If you hurry, he might still be there.”

“Thanks,” she said quickly, rolling up her map and tucking it away. Thancred wanted to talk to her…? She had a feeling she knew what it was about, and part of her dreaded the conversation… but at the same time, her heart ached to see him again.

Somehow, Apollo understood Wombat’s urgency, and he flew more swiftly than before. She tried not to let her mind wander, instead focusing on scanning the land below her. She saw the broken, frozen aetheryte in the distance, and… ah!

A splash of red caught her eye, revealing itself as she approached to be the blood of a dead wolf. Apollo descended, and she saw several more corpses, splayed out by the cliff. And there, sheltered by the icy shelf…

Thancred. Standing watchfully besides a pair of Ysayle’s followers. Apollo landed and knelt down to let Wombat hop off. She ran to the group, though she stopped shy of hugging Thancred.

He saw her hesitation, and she couldn’t quite discern his expression. He nodded to her. “Fancy meeting you here, Wombat,” he greeted.

“Ah, yes,” she said awkwardly. She glanced questioningly at the heretics behind him.

Thancred followed her gaze and chuckled, sweeping an arm to indicate the dead wolves. “‘Twas fortunate I came when I did,” he said. “These two would not have fared well against the wolves on their own.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” said Wombat quietly. “Emmanellain was  _ right. _ ”

She thought she heard Thancred snicker. “The young lord wasted no time taking advantage of you, did he?” He paused, then shrugged. “And me, I suppose.”

Tentatively, Wombat smiled. “You… know how that sounds, right?”

Unlike her, Thancred showed no sign of hesitation in falling back into their old routines. “My apologies, my dear. Would you prefer it were  _ I _ in place of  _ he _ ?”

“ _ Thancred! _ ” She blushed, sounding scandalized even as she smiled. It was nice to talk normally with him. Well, if you could call how they conversed  _ normal _ .

It was a shame they were dancing around the elephant in the room while they did it.

The heretics seemed content to not acknowledge the questionable content of the banter, instead offering their thanks to their savior.

“Think nothing of it,” said Thancred. “Come, let us return to Falcon’s Nest. I will see you safely there.” He nodded to Wombat. “See you there.”

“Aye,” she replied. Apollo nudged her arm, and she gave him a scritch behind his beak before they set off again.

Thancred seemed content to act as if nothing had happened.

It was a shame that she couldn’t quite bring herself to do the same.

\---

Somehow, Thancred was already there when Wombat returned. How did he  _ do _ that? He was escorting people this time, too!  _ Rogues. _

She dismounted and gave Apollo a head of gysahl greens for his efforts, then joined the group by the barracks door. She noted with amusement the exasperation Thancred was radiating toward Emmanellain, who for his part remained entirely ignorant. She couldn’t contain a chuckle as she approached, which earned her an eye roll from Thancred.

“Our gallant heroes return!” declared Emmanellain excitedly. Thancred muttered something under his breath, though Wombat didn’t quite catch it.

“Glad we could help,” she said, deciding to speak for both of them.

“ _ Oh yes, my pleasure, _ ” Thancred grumbled, barely loud enough for Wombat to hear. She managed to contain her snicker at his bitter sarcasm.

Wombat returned her attention to Emmanellain, realizing that he’d been talking. As usual, he didn’t seem to notice her distraction.   


“Oh, and this should go without saying, but let’s keep those last few favors between us, yes? Artoirel wouldn’t understand.”

Wombat smiled amusedly and nodded, while Thancred mumbled bitterly behind her.

Emmanellain indicated the door next to them with a flourish. “Right then-- the first floor of those barracks has been converted into a tavern for the duration of the conference,” he explained. “Why don’t you go and have something to eat?”

So, in as many words, he’d run out of tasks to assign her. She chuckled. “Good idea. Thank you, Emmanellain.”

To her surprise, Thancred spoke loud enough to be heard this time. “For once, a suggestion with which I agree.” He stepped forward and placed a hand on Wombat’s shoulder.

A sensation like an electric shock ran through her at his touch, but she gamely hid it with a smile.

“Go on ahead, Wombat,” Thancred continued. “I will join you anon.”

“I look forward to it,” she said honestly. A conversation over a nice mug of mulled wine might be just the thing for this, really. Willing though he may have been to forgive and forget, she wanted to talk it out first.

Wombat headed into the tavern, giving her friends one last wave. A maid greeted her warmly as she entered, indicating an empty table near the back. Wombat thanked her and settled down, basking in the warmth of the atmosphere.

She looked out across the room and smiled. Highborn and lowborn alike, sitting at the long tables and talking as they ate and drank. It was a welcome sight, and one she hoped would become commonplace in the days to come.

The thud of a mug on the table in front of her drew her attention. The maid from before smiled at her, indicating the drink. “Cold out, en’t it? Here-- a mug on the house. Let’s get some color back in them cheeks!”

Wombat grinned at her. “Thank you very much, miss,” she said gratefully. She took a long swig of the wine, sighing contentedly as the warmth spread through her. “Aye, that’s a very welcome treat. Thank you.”

The woman’s smile brightened. “Aye, think nothin’ of it. ‘Fraid food’ll be a bit longer than usual, though. We’ve got a lot of hungry folk to feed what with the conference and all.”

“Please, take your time,” said Wombat. “Don’t work yourself too hard for my sake. Just a warm hearth and a hot drink is more than enough for now.”

“Glad to hear it,” said the maid. She looked out over the people gathered at the tables, sighing wistfully. “So many people with cause to celebrate. To think there could be peace in our time, after all them years of fightin’...”

Wombat nodded, leaning her arms on the table in front of her and letting the atmosphere wash over her. The maid was still speaking, and it occurred to Wombat how odd it was, that she’d bother staying here to talk when the tavern was so busy.

“My husband, he… he died fighting the dragons, you see… And here we are, about to break bread with them.”

Wombat’s smile faded. She couldn’t place it, but something in the woman’s tone was setting off alarm bells in her head. This was no longer the wistfulness of a war-weary maid, happy to see an end to the fighting.

It was bitterness.

Bitter, like the aftertaste that clung to Wombat’s tongue.

Bitter, like the sudden, unnatural drowsiness that aggressively asserted itself over her senses.

Oh, gods,  _ no. _

_ Not again. _

“What…” It felt like she was trying to speak through a mouthful of cotton. Wombat pressed her hands against the table, fighting to remain upright. “ _ What did you do? _ ”

The maid smiled. But this time, it was the smile of a predator. “You look tired. Reckon you could do with a good long rest.”

Raw, desperate fear clawed at Wombat’s heart, but it wasn’t enough to pull her free of the drug’s uncaring grasp. She swayed, her grip on the table growing tenuous.

“After all you’ve done,” the maid continued, “I’d say you’ve  _ earned _ it.”

“ _ Please, _ ” Wombat forced out, struggling. “Please, don’t… after all this…”

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and her world turned sideways. She felt the impact with the floor only distantly, lost in the morass of sedation.

The maid crouched next to her, though Wombat could barely see her now. “Sleep, now,” the woman whispered. “Sleep, and leave us to our affairs.”

Try as she may, Wombat could no longer keep her eyes open. Her every attempt to move met with failure.

“This was  _ never _ your fight.”

_ No, no, no, no no no no... _

...The Echo came, unbidden as ever, in the form of a nightmare.

The struggles of this woman, her pain at having her husband wrenched away from her,  _ rage _ at the peace. Her and others, believing that peace would mean their kin died for nothing.

Gods, they were so misguided. They were _ so _ misguided. Wombat wanted to reach out, to shake them, to tell them that  _ no, you fools, it’s the opposite! _

But, as always, the Echo forced her to watch. To hear, feel, and think, without being able to  _ change _ what she saw.

Inevitably, as the visions exhausted themselves, the familiar nightmares settled in.

A cold stone walkway, a spear of light, a broken shield.

A friend dying before her. Desperately trying to smile for him, even as his hand went limp in hers.

Yet another ghost of the past that she could never change.

...Something changed.

A sound cut through the molasses, a familiar voice. Weakly, she reached for it, trying to use the voice to surface from her personal hell.

“Hey!  _ Hey!  _ This is no time for napping!”

It was like trying to swim in clay. But slowly,  _ slowly _ , sensation returned to her body. She could feel a hand gripping her own, heard her name-- her  _ real _ name-- uttered by that voice she knew so well.

Wombat tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a weak groan. She felt a gentle squeeze on her hand, and another hand on her back, helping her to sit up.

“Than...cred…” Wombat managed. She made the effort to grip his hand back. The movement was weak, uncertain at first, but as she roused she felt her grip become stronger.

She blinked several times, and finally her sight came into focus. Thancred leaned over her, his face taut with concern and stress. She saw a wave of relief wash over him as she returned to her senses, but the expression was short-lived.

“Do you have your wits about you?” he asked urgently. The sharpness of his tone helped clear away most of the remaining cobwebs in Wombat’s mind, and she nodded. “Good. Come with me-- we have a crisis on our hands!”

Wombat didn’t ask questions-- didn’t  _ dare _ ask-- as he helped her to her feet. They rushed outside, and into a hellish scene.

Rioting. People lying prone on the flagstones. She prayed they were merely unconscious.

Thancred’s gaze jerked upward, and Wombat followed it to find…

The maid. The same woman who had drugged her, standing high above the crowd and ready to deliver a speech.

_ Gods damn it all! _

The woman spoke, and her words dripped with venom.  _ Hatred,  _ for those who had taken her husband.

No, no, no! Did she not understand? Did she not realize that hatred would beget hatred, that death would beget death? There would be no end to misery! Trembling, still sluggish from the poison in her veins, Wombat could only watch events unfold.

_ Again. _

"What are you doing? Stop her!"

Wombat heard Emmanellain’s panicked voice, and fear seized her. Oh gods, he wouldn’t--

An arrow struck the woman in the arm, and added fuel to the fire of her hatred. Another took her in the chest, and she collapsed.

All eyes turned to the young lord, standing horrified and alone. Emmanellain stared at the knight as he lowered his bow.

“What have you done?” gasped the young lord.

“I-I was only doing as you ordered--” stammered the knight.

It was as if reality came crashing down on the boy all at once. “I gave no such order! I did not! I… I never meant for anyone to...”

He stared around, horrified, at the faces all turned toward him. He fled.

Wombat felt her legs give out.

A pair of strong arms caught her before she could hit the ground, scooping her up into a bridal carry.

She didn’t have the energy to protest, or even to comment. Her body was sluggish, her heart leaden with pain, and her mind numb.

“Worry not,” said Thancred quietly as he carried her away. “I’ll find you someplace safe to rest… and then see if this mess can yet be salvaged.”

“Th… thank you…”

It didn’t take long to find the chirurgeons, given the riots outside. Thancred delivered her to their care, then returned to the streets. Though she wanted nothing more than to rest, Wombat forced herself to recount to the healers what had occurred. Mercifully, they were able to readily procure an antidote to counteract the remains of the drug in her body, and determined that she was otherwise unharmed.

Her treatment administered and others demanding their attention, the chirurgeons left her to her thoughts.

She didn't want to think. Instead, she curled up on the little cot and let a fitful, dreamless sleep take her.

Wombat was unsure how long she managed to sleep, but she felt  _ much _ restored when Thancred shook her awake. She blinked up at him, sitting up and yawning.

He chuckled. “Good morning,” he greeted. “You look to be in much better shape than when I left you.”

She nodded, rubbing her eyes. “Mmh… the town? The people?”

“Rather a mess,” he sighed. “The violence has passed, but I’m afraid the deeds have left their mark.”

“Gods  _ damn _ it all,” she hissed. “Alright. Is there anything I can do to help now?”

“Come with me. Lord Artoirel and the first commander just returned, and wish to speak with you. Emmanellain is in the tavern as well, and has not moved an ilm since last I saw him.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said quietly. She sighed and finally stood, following Thancred down the stairs to the tavern. Lucia and Artoirel looked up as they approached, their expressions grim.

“My apologies, Wombat,” said Lucia. “I bear full responsibility for this… debacle.”

Wombat opened her mouth to deny such a claim, but Thancred beat her to it.

“There will be time for that later. I, for one, am more concerned about picking up the pieces. What do we know?”

Lucia and Artoirel exchanged a glance, and Lucia began to explain. Wombat cast her eyes down, hearing the story line up with the memories she’d been shown earlier. It was all orchestrated by that woman, the one who drugged her.

Apparently, the chirurgeons had somehow saved the woman’s life for now, despite the seemingly fatal blows the archer had struck. Wombat hoped she lived to answer for her deeds… and that she may yet come to understand why peace was so important.

Artoirel sighed forlornly. “I’ll be sworn that these villains spent as much effort plotting the failure of this peace conference as we did its success.”

Thancred crossed his arms. “Well, if the mood of the hamlet is any indication, theirs have been the more fruitful labors,” he said grimly. “In the wake of the protest, the people seem disillusioned.”

“That woman,” Wombat said quietly. “She’s so misguided. She’s so  _ angry _ about her loss that she’s lost sight of what you truly fought for.” She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering the bitterness in the maid’s tone, the despair in the memories. “She spoke to me, before she drugged me… Gods, if I had only realized sooner…”

Lucia frowned sympathetically. “I see…” She sighed and shook her head. “...Ser Aymeric placed his trust in me. It will be difficult to explain what has happened here.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Wombat insisted. “You’ve done nothing this whole time but what you thought was best. It’s these… these  _ villains _ with whom the blame lies.”

“Remember how far we have come, First Commander,” said Artoirel. “The people’s faith may be shaken, but we convinced them before, and will do so again.”

Wombat wished she could be so certain. She withdrew into herself, letting the remainder of the conversation wash over her. She’d been so focused on her troubles with Thancred, she’d let her guard down. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t help the guilt that laid itself heavily on her shoulders.

She blinked and returned to reality, realizing that Lucia was now addressing her. “Ah, I’m sorry…”

Lucia shook her head, dismissing the apology as unnecessary. “I understand, Wombat. I was saying that as I cannot leave Falcon’s Nest under these circumstances, I would like you to deliver my report to the lord commander in my stead.”

Wombat nodded without hesitation. “Of course. I’ll leave right away.”

Artoirel turned his attention to the side, where his brother had remained motionless in his chair through the whole exchange.

“Get up, Emmanellain. You’re going with her.”

The young lord withdrew further into himself. “Go on without me.”

Artoirel’s eyes narrowed. “...I was _ not _ asking,” he said sharply. “You will answer for your actions. In person. Is that clear?”

Emmanellain glanced over his shoulder, barely meeting his brother’s eyes before looking away. “...Yes, my lord. Come, Honoroit.”

Wombat blinked and looked around, realizing for the first time that the young Elezen was nowhere to be seen.

“Your manservant is not here,” Thancred pointed out. “In fact, I have not seen him for some time…”

The panic that immediately beset Emmanellain’s features was one Wombat knew only too well. He shot to his feet, looking around frantically. “Honoroit…? Honoroit! I could have sworn he was…”

Emmanellain took off running for the streets in a panic. Thancred followed him at a more sedate pace, Wombat close on his heels.

“Split up,” said Thancred. “I’ll keep an eye on the young lord. Look for Honoroit.”

Wombat nodded, splitting off and heading for the upper level of the hamlet for a better vantage. There were fewer people about now, making her efforts far easier.

“Damn,” she muttered, squinting against the snow. She pulled out her chocobo whistle and called Apollo to her side. “Help me search-- we seek a young Elezen boy, barely under my height.”

The purple chocobo gave an affirmative chirp and took off to survey the town from above. With her eye in the sky set, Wombat set out for the back streets, looking around and calling the boy’s name as she went.

She’d scarce reached the other side of town when Apollo’s call drew her attention. He landed beside her, dancing in place, indicating with his head that she should follow.

“Good boy,” she said, quickly taking off in the direction Apollo indicated. She tossed him some leaves of gysahl greens, which he eagerly plucked from the air as they ran toward the airship landing.

There, she saw a single figure, crumpled against the steps at the far end of the landing.

“Oh gods-- Honoroit!” Wombat put on an extra burst of speed, skidding to a stop next to the boy and kneeling down. Blood flowed freely from a cut above his eye, and his face was a mosaic of bruises.

“Oh, Hydaelyn, please let this poor child live,” she whispered, holding the back of her hand in front of his mouth. She peered closely, and saw the lightest mist form on her armor. She let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Apollo, find Thancred and Emmanellain.”

“ _ Honoroit! _ ”

Both she and her bird looked up to find there was no need for the order. Emmanellain was running toward them, Thancred close behind.

Emmanellain looked close to tears as he dropped to his knees in front of Honoroit. “No, no! What have they done to you?!” He reached for the boy’s hands, desperately calling his name.

Honoroit stirred, and his eyes eased open. “Is that you, my lord?” he asked weakly. “You… you seem rather flustered.”

“Because of  _ you _ , you imbecile!” cried Emmanellain. A tear slid free as he clutched Honoroit’s hands with renewed urgency. “What in the seven hells happened to you?!”

“My… my apologies…” Honoroit mumbled, looking down. “Some few of the guests expressed a wish to leave… and I implored them to stay. It would seem they… took issue with my request.”

“Gods forgive me…” Emmanellain whispered. “If I had only been more careful with my words!”

“D-do not blame yourself, my lord.” Honoroit coughed, but continued. “I know… I  _ know _ that you and your brother have Ishgard’s best interests at heart.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “That poor woman… She lives in the past, clinging to memories of the lost.”

Wombat felt her heart clench, images from her visions floating to the forefront of her mind. That woman… so lost in her misery that she would fain wish the same on others before allowing it to pass.

She heard Emmanellain call Honoroit’s name, and emerged from her reverie to find that the boy had gone limp once more. Emmanellain’s face was a mask of terror as he stared down at the tiny form before him.

“Calm yourself,” said Thancred, cutting through Emmanellain’s panic. “The boy will live. But it’s imperative we get him inside and into the care of a chirurgeon without delay.”

Emmanellain staggered numbly to his feet, no longer trying to hold back tears as he stared at Honoroit. A sudden fit of passion overtook him, and he swiped a hand angrily through the air as if to bat away the ill fate that had befallen the day. “We were so close!” he cried. “Why does it all have to fall to pieces?!”

Wombat and Thancred exchanged glances. Her ears drooped low; she knew how the young lord felt. Gods, did she know how he felt.

“Don’t they  _ want _ to live in peace?” Emmanellain continued. “Don’t they  _ want _ to be happy?! We all want the same thing, and still--  _ still _ it falls to pieces!”

He gave voice to the agonized cries that had filled Wombat’s heart since fleeing Ul’dah. She looked away, squeezed her eyes shut to try to hold back her tears.

Emmanellain was growing frantic, one hand clutching at his head. “Tell me, what--  _ what _ was I supposed to do, hm?” He shook his head. “Someone, anyone, tell me--  _ what was I supposed to do?! _ ”

Sympathy turned to rage in Wombat’s heart. These were the rantings of a frightened, entitled brat, suddenly afraid to face the reality of his actions. She clenched her fists, took half a step forward--

But was stopped by Thancred’s outstretched arm. He met her eyes and shook his head, and she wilted. He understood… and he was right.

She hissed out a curse and stood back, still seething at Emmanellain’s childish tantrum.

Thancred turned his attention back to the panicking young man. “Stop looking to others,” he said harshly. “You make your choice, and you live with the consequences.” His eye flicked down to look solemnly at the unconscious Honoroit, driving home the meaning of his words.

Emmanellain seemed to consider this for a moment, before he let out a strangled cry and let fly a fist into Thancred’s face. The rogue rolled with the punch, saying nothing as the young man continued to rant.

“And what would  _ you _ know about consequences?!” cried Emmanellain.

Wombat’s eyes narrowed. The boy knew  _ nothing _ .

“You, who always know just what to say, and just what to do! Your every deed is greeted with a round of applause!”

Still silent, Thancred turned his head back toward Emmanellain, his expression hard. He leaned back and then punched him,  _ hard _ , knocking the young lord flat on his back. Thancred stepped closer,  _ loomed _ over him, his eye shining with barely contained fury.

“You know _ nothing _ about me,” Thancred hissed, his tone cutting like a knife. “I have fought tooth and nail for the people I hold dear-- done  _ everything _ in my power to save them… and I have failed.”

Tears sprang unbidden to Wombat’s eyes. His tone, his rage-- they were the same as when they’d last spoken, after the Antitower. Wombat understood now what it was-- it was not anger at  _ her _ for failing; it was anger at his own impotence, frustration at his own failure to protect that, in that moment, had been projected onto her.

_ Gods. _

Thancred had turned away, begun walking back toward the hamlet. “Learn to live with it,” he growled, his parting words to Emmanellain. “I have.”

Wombat watched Thancred’s retreating figure until he was out of sight. She glanced down at Emmanellain, slowly picking himself up off the ground, and then at poor Honoroit.

“Can I trust you to get him to the chirurgeons?” she asked, not looking at the young lord.

“I-I… yes. Yes, of course…”

“Good.”

Without another word, she strode off. She had to catch up to Thancred, to talk to him. Maybe even to kiss him. She had to admit, that was a  _ very _ impressive display just now after all.

Fortunately, he hadn’t gone far. He also seemed to have calmed down by the time she found him, standing outside the makeshift tavern. He greeted her with a halfhearted wave.

“Thancred,” she said breathlessly as she approached. “That was…”

“...I may have overreacted,” he admitted. “But it needed to be done. He was becoming hysterical.”

“Oh no, I agree,” she said quickly. “I can’t believe he actually  _ hit  _ you. He needed a wake-up call.”

Thancred scoffed. “I’d hardly even call his little outburst there a  _ hit _ . He has no idea how to throw a punch; I’d wager he hurt his own hand far more than he hurt me.”

“Clearly the same can’t be said of you,” she observed. His only response was a shrug. “Thancred… I think I understand now.”

He held up a hand, and she fell silent. “Stop. I neither desire nor  _ deserve _ your forgiveness. It… was wrong of me, to say those things to you.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I…” She bit her lip. “You meant them for yourself, didn’t you?”

Thancred fell still, refused to meet her eyes.

“...I thought so.” She stepped forward gingerly, and when he made no move to object, she took his hands. “Whether you like it or not, I forgive you. You forgave me, after all, when I said something stupid to you. I think we’ve both been through enough that we understand where such harsh words come from…”

“Regrettably,” he mumbled bitterly. He looked back toward the airship landing, his expression hardening. “I understand the desire to look for reasons. For excuses. To convince yourself you had no choice. But the past is the past, and there is naught to be gained from reliving your mistakes.” He gripped her hands back, and she could hear the emotions warring in his voice. “I know this. I  _ know _ this. But he…”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Trust me, I know.” She leaned forward, standing on tip-toe, and gently,  _ oh-so gently _ kissed him. He sighed softly and returned the kiss, leaning down to better reach her.

Their lips parted after only a brief time, but Wombat quickly moved in for a proper hug. His arms encircled her, and his warm embrace told her that she was  _ safe _ , everything would be  _ okay _ . Somehow, everything would be okay.

Her thoughts wandered for a time, and she found herself sighing quietly. At his inquisitive look, she shook her head. “Sorry, I was just… thinking. If we’re to make this work, we can’t keep doing this. The getting angry, parting ways, kissing it better later thing.”

“Why ever not?” he asked, half joking.

“Thancred,” she chided. She couldn’t help but smile when he laughed at that, though the worries still niggled at the edge of her mind. “Really, though… do you think we’ll be okay like this?”

“We’ve managed so far…”   


“Well, yes, but, I mean…” she sighed, clutching him tighter. “We’re both such…  _ wrecks _ . So much has happened to us, we’ve each suffered such loss… both individually and together. Can our relationship work with that much…  _ baggage _ ?”

He hummed thoughtfully, stroking her hair and staring thoughtfully into the distance. “If we both desire it enough, I’m sure we can manage,” he said finally. “Really, at the end of the day… don’t you think it’s the opposite?”

“The opposite? What do you mean?”

“I mean… the baggage, as you called it. Who else could possibly understand what we’re going through at any given time?”

He certainly had a point. Wombat nuzzled deeper into his chest, now her turn to become thoughtfully silent. “...You may be right about that,” she admitted after a time.

“Of course I’m right. Aren’t I always?”

“Hardly,” she teased. She looked up at him, grinning, and he met her halfway for a  _ proper _ kiss.

All at once, Wombat felt her worries melt away. This was  _ right. _ No matter what troubles they faced, she knew-- being here in his arms, her lips locked with his, it was right.

He was the first to pull away, and he chuckled at her disappointed whine. “Later, my dear. We have important business to attend to, do we not?”

Reluctantly, Wombat extricated herself from him. “Yes, I suppose we do.” She glanced back toward where they’d left Emmanellain and Honoroit, though she couldn’t tell if they were still there. “Do you suppose we ought to wait for him…?”

“Gods, no,” Thancred grunted. “I’ve no desire to wait for the lordling to emerge from his puddle of self-pity. I say we head out, and find some way to keep ourselves occupied while we wait for him to catch up.”

Wombat smirked. “I wonder how we’ll do that.”

He grinned back. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Now let’s go meet with Ser Aymeric, before the young lord  _ does _ show up to ruin our moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing canon dialogue and events in a way that doesn't feel stilted is _very_ difficult, it turns out. I'm quite pleased with how I managed, though; I'll definitely say I'm a great deal better already than several published novelizations I've read.
> 
> Looking at you, Halo: The Flood.
> 
> ...No, I will never be over how bad that book is, even when I'm not actively involved in the fandom.


End file.
